


Sharing is Caring

by kurokonekokilled



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blowjobs, Complete, D/s themes, Exhibitionism, Kneeling, M/M, Power Imbalance, Semi Public Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, crawling, dubcon, mentioned face slapping, positioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurokonekokilled/pseuds/kurokonekokilled
Summary: Canon divergent. Aizen is king of Heuco Mundo and has subjugated the Shinigami- long before Ichigo was part of the equation. Now that the boy is here, Aizen wants to ensure Ichigo will be his loyal lapdog for as long as he sees fit. And why not allow some of his Espada in on the fun?





	Sharing is Caring

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: dubcon

Ichigo stretched his arms out over his head, groaning as he felt the bones pop and muscles settle back into place. He opened amber eyes as he rounded the corner, heading into the public onsen of Los Noches.

Realistically, he had a pretty good life. He had plenty of food, a warm futon, a roof over his head, and a way to let off steam. As an old fighter himself, he’d been assigned to the sparring squad, mostly utilized when low level Arrancars needed something to keep them busy. But Ichigo was the best they had, so he was the one who dealt with the current Espada when they wanted to scuffle a bit, but weren’t allowed to leave the confines of Los Noches.

Shuuhei and Renji dealt with the Privaron Espada whenever they sauntered in, so they shouldn’t have been too far behind him when it came to skill level. That’s what everyone - including him - had thought until a few hours before, when Nnoitra had prowled through the door and started swinging Santa Teresa around, effectively scattering everyone across the training grounds. Both Shuuhei and Renji had charged him, and had gotten tossed nearly a kilometer away by a casual sweep of the Quinto’s hand.

The lanky man had growled something about wanting the strongest, so Ichigo had unsheathed Zangetsu and stepped in front of him, expecting to get his ass thoroughly handed to him. The two had struggled against each other for nearly an hour, trading blows, blood soaking through white fabric as time went on. Ichigo had been forced to pull out his Hollow mask to actually pin the man down and get his sword tight to that skinny throat.

Nnoitra had looked like he was about to kill Ichigo before a breezy voice had called out to them mockingly.

“Nnoitra-san, I didn’t know ya were such an exhibitionist,” the man had called out, that perpetual grin stretching his lips. “And so submissive too, to let the boy pin ya down like that.”

Ichigo’s cheeks had flared and he’d all but jumped off the taller man, stepping several feet away. He’d been sprawled over Nnoitra’s hips, pinning one of his wrists down, trying to keep him still.

He never sheathed his sword, though, even as he leapt away, not knowing who the silver haired man was and if he’d come for a fight, or if Nnoitra would roll to his feet and attack again.

“Gin,” Nnoitra had bitten out, like the name itself was an insult, and Ichigo’s eyes had widened.

Gin? As in Aizen-sama’s right hand man, the man who did all the dirty work, the only person who was even vaguely comparable to the king of Hueco Mundo?

“Aizen’s called a meeting,” he’d told the Quinto airily, and yeah, that had to be _that_ Gin - no one else would dare refer to the King without honorifics. “Ya might wanna be there.”

Nnoitra had just scowled and grabbed his zanpakuto before he sonidoed towards the throne room. Gin hadn’t opened his eyes once through the whole ordeal, but as he turned towards Ichigo, there was maybe the slightest sliver of blue visible beneath his lashes.

“What’s yer name?” he’d asked his head tilting to the side.

“Kurosaki Ichigo.”

He’d refused to look away or let himself stutter. He never showed deference to anyone, not unless they earned it.

“Ya might not want to point yer sword at me, Berry,” he’d been warned.

The next thing he knew, a tanto was in Gin’s hand, extending faster than he could track, just barely nicking his shoulder before retreating back, all in the time it took to blink.

“My Shinsou doesn’t take too kindly to it.”

And with that, the man had been gone. Ichigo had looked down to where blood was swelling up on his shoulder in shock. The man’s speed was terrifying, and Ichigo was just glad he wasn’t expected to spar with him.

But all of that was over now, and he was going to soak his bruises and cuts in the hot water. He shot a nod to Shuuhei, noticing Renji’s tattooed arms spread over the side of the spring, his back facing to him. So he showered quickly, then stepped over and dropped his towel, groaning as he slid in the hot water.

Renji and Shuuhei both laughed at him, and he held up a weak middle finger as his head dropped back against the stone rim.

“He’s one tough motherfucker,” Renji stated gruffly, rubbing his hand over his ribs where Nnoitra’s hand had caught him earlier.

“Yeah,” Ichigo agreed, not really paying attention as he let the warmth ease away his aches.

“Didn’t realize you were that much stronger than us,” Shuuhei said, half-teasingly.

Ichigo just punched him lightly on the arm and rolled his eyes.

“Not,” he said, settling himself down more comfortably. “He got a lucky shot at you guys.”

“Nah,” Renji spoke up, climbing out of the onsen as he spoke. “He’s a strong son of a bitch, and you’re stronger than him. Take a damn compliment, Strawberry.”

Ichigo growled and started to make a snarky retort, but his eyes snapped open as he heard a pathetic squeak come from Renji, seeing him scrambling for a towel and holding it over his groin in embarrassment. He turned his eyes to where the tattooed man was looking, and his hands shot down to cover himself in reflex, even though he knew nothing could be seen under the murky water.

“Rukia!” Renji half-yelled. “This is the men’s onsen, what the hell are you doing?”

Rukia rolled her eyes at his antics, never having been one to be shy. Bodies were bodies, and unless they were alone and aroused, naked bodies didn’t bother her. She was the head attendant for the visiting ladies of the castle, although she mostly delegated duties and kept guard; she was probably better with a sword than most of the trained fighters.

“Shut up, Red,” she sighed wearily, amusement dancing in her eyes as he stayed hunched over, clutching the small towel to himself. “Ichigo, you’ve been requested in the throne room in twenty minutes.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. Probably Loly wanting to try to push some of her tasks into him so she could go drool over Aizen-sama. Like hell he’d go.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand through the air, making it clear that he didn’t care.

“You’re not listening, Kurosaki,” the small girl told him sternly, her arms crossing over her chest in annoyance. His eyes slotted back open at the use of his family name. She very rarely got so formal with him nowadays. “Aizen-sama has requested you in the throne room in twenty minutes.”

Amber eyes widened as he took in the statement, seeing that she was actually serious. He shot out of the pool, not bothering to cover himself as he dashed over to where his clothes were. Toweling himself off haphazardly, he yanked his hakama up, tying them quickly. He couldn’t find his fundoshi, but that wasn’t his priority at the moment. He slid his feet into the standard wear sandals he’d been assigned and grabbed his shitagi and kosode and pulled them over his shoulders, tucking them into place as he half-jogged in the direction of the throne room.

He’d never officially met the King, so he had no idea why he was suddenly being called to his presence. Perhaps it had something to do with the earlier encounter with Nnoitra? He’d only ever fought the Octava before out the current Espada, and that had only been because the man wanted to research… something or other. Maybe he’d done something wrong. Or maybe it was because of what happened with Gin? No matter the reason, it wouldn’t do to be late.

So he hurried his steps, and in less than three minutes, he was standing outside of the throne room doors. He stopped, wondering what to do next. Was it ok to be early? Should he knock or just go in?

All of his thoughts were brought to a standstill when the doors suddenly creaked open of their own accord. His eyes widened at the sight before him. Aizen-sama was sitting on a raised dais, lounged in a throne. His chin rested on his hand, his legs crossed casually, and he was staring directly at Ichigo.

Quickly swallowing his pride, Ichigo forced himself to walk in and bow, hating how his neck was so exposed to the Espada lounging in various places in the large room around him. He heard a low chuckle, his hair standing on end at the sound, and he just barely stopped himself from snapping his head up to look at Aizen again.

“Stand straight, Kurosaki Ichigo,” a smooth, low voice commanded. It tingled over his skin like a physical touch, and he stamped down a shiver at the feeling.

So he stood straight, his eyes meeting the King’s once again, even though he probably shouldn’t. If the way the man’s eyes were twinkling in amusement at his gall was any indication, he definitely shouldn’t. But he did.

Silence stretched out between them, Ichigo refusing to drop his gaze. The tension in the air grew, but Ichigo felt like it was the tension of everyone else around them, rather than the two men themselves.

Finally, he broke.

“What am I doing here?” he asked bluntly, reprimanding himself for speaking out of turn, then adding a hasty “Aizen-sama,” so it wouldn’t be quite as disrespectful.

“I was informed of your presence by Gin, and his recounting of today’s events was confirmed by Nnoitra.” Aizen nodded his head calmly to each of the men referenced, and Ichigo finally broke eye contact.

Only a select group of the Espada were present, oddly enough, along with Gin.

Nnoitra, the Quinto, leaning lazily against the wall, his arm slung over Santa Teresa’s blade like it wasn’t sharp at all. Szayelaporro, the Octava, pushing his glasses up his nose in a fashion that reminded Ichigo of Uryū, his friend who assisted Rukia. Grimmjow, the Sexta, arms crossed over his chest and an annoyed scowl pulling at his lips, like always. And Starrk, the Primera, eyes actually open for once, even if his head was resting wearily on his open palm.

And of course, Gin, standing carelessly to the side of Aizen’s throne, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robe, that damned eternal grin stretched wide over his face.

Why only the six of them? Maybe the others were out on a mission of some sort. It didn’t really matter all that much, he just wanted to do what he was told and get the hell out of there.

So he told himself to forget the fact that he had any pride at all for the moment, and he took a deep breath.

“I apologize if I did something out of line, Aizen-sama. I did not mean to threaten or be rude to anyone.”

Aizen laughed softly, and Ichigo felt anger course through his body. His eyes snapped up and met Aizen’s, glaring holes through him before he realized exactly who he was looking at like that and remembered that he wanted to be able to breathe later.

“I liked the fire in your eyes more than I did the apology, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Aizen called down to him. His head cocked to the side and he added, “Is it alright if I call you Ichigo?”

It wasn’t a request, and everyone in the room knew it. Ichigo was tempted to say no, just because he didn’t like being ordered around, especially underhandedly. But he reminded himself of who he was in front of and nodded slowly, not sure exactly what the king was up to.

“Wonderful.” Aizen’s stare had weight to it, like he was actually touching Ichigo with his looks. “I’d like to grant you a position, working much closer with these select Espada, Gin, and myself,” Aizen offered calmly.

Ichigo’s head spun for a moment. Aizen was personally offering him a position to work with the Espada, and his right hand man, _and_ himself. Why the hell would he do that out of nowhere? And what would Ichigo even be doing?

Before he could get his thoughts in order, Aizen spoke again.

“We are all in need of a bit of stress relief, and we have all agreed that you, Ichigo, would be a wonderful candidate for that.”

Stress relief. So he’d be their punching bag once again. And now for the Primera and Aizen himself, just great. Maybe they’d let him tell Renji and Shuuhei to go ahead and start on his funeral arrangements?

“So I’m going to be doing the same thing that I do now?” Ichigo enquired. “Just with these specific people?”

Aizen laughed, again, and Ichigo felt his blood boil accordingly. Being laughed at was one thing that infuriated him, even if the sound did make his stomach knot in a way that wasn’t quite unpleasant.

“Not that kind of stress relief, Ichigo,” the brunette answered smoothly.

Ichigo’s confused look earned him a sigh, Aizen finally removing his hand from his face and dropping it to the arm of his throne.

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order, Aizen-sama,” a voice called from his left, not bothering to hide the excitement.

“I think you might be correct, Szayelaporro,” Aizen conceded, nodding his head slightly.

The Octava stepped forward, making his way to Ichigo. The boy’s hand instinctively went for his sword before realizing he’d left it in the training grounds, his body settling into a defensive position regardless. Szayelaporro simply laughed at him, shaking his head.

“There’s no need to be so defensive, little Berry,” he crooned, ignoring the way Ichigo bristled at the nickname. “This won’t be a fight.”

Ichigo took a step back as the man got far too close for comfort before finally stopping. A long fingered hand came up to his face, but he grabbed the slender wrist before it could make contact with his skin.

Reiatsu tingled over his skin and Ichigo snapped his head to look at Aizen, anger and confusion warring in his eyes.

“Behave now, Ichigo,” the King warned him. “He’s just trying to show you. No harm will come to you from this.”

Ichigo dropped his hand from the Octava’s wrist, not sure that he liked how easy it was for him to listen to his king. Those fingers brushed against his cheekbone, trailing over his skin and down along the line of his jaw as golden eyes burned into him.

Ichigo’s breath hitched and his body froze when he felt the distance between them evaporate, and, more importantly, a pair of soft, cold lips pressing firmly against his own. He stood there for a moment, shocked into stillness, until he felt a tongue brush over his bottom lip and a hand wrapping around his waist to pull him in even closer.

That hand slid down as he started to struggle, squeezing his ass firmly and pressing him closer against the arrancar’s body. His mouth fell open slightly in a gasp, and suddenly there was a tongue rubbing against his, a moan vibrating into his mouth.

His jaw clenched and then snapped shut, just as Szayelaporro pulled his tongue back, nipping sharply at Ichigo’s bottom lip. Ichigo could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“I thought Aizen-sama told you to behave, little Berry,” the scientist reprimanded him quietly, his hand still firmly on Ichigo’s ass.

Ichigo struggled harder, his wrist twisting in Szayelaporro’s hold, and when had he even wrapped those bony fingers around his wrist? He tried to pry his body out of the Octava’s grasp, grunting in annoyance when all he managed to do was writhe around. His brows furrowed together in his usual scowl as the hand still on his ass squeezed harshly.

“Do keep squirming, it rubs in all the right places,” he smirked down at Ichigo.

Several laughs rang out at the comment, Nnoitra’s nasally voice mingling with Grimmjow’s gruff one, Gin’s lilting tone fluttering down from Aizen’s lifted throne.

Ichigo stilled, glaring holes into Szayelaporro as the man continued to hold him against his body in that iron grip.

“Let him go, Szayelaporro,” Aizen commanded softly.

He always spoke softly, but his voice seemed to ring out over everyone else’s, no matter the volume.

Ichigo stumbled back as he was released, just barely managing to keep himself upright as he rubbed his wrist. He was still glaring, but now he was swinging his gaze around, making sure that none of the other three Espada were making any movement towards him. At the worst, it seemed, both the Sexta and the Quinto were grinning viciously at him. No one was making any move to grab at him again, though, so he could at least be thankful for that.

“Gin, I believe your talents would be most suited for this?” Aizen prodded, watching as the permanent grin on the man’s face widened at the prospect.

Yes, Szayelaporro was lusty, and constantly full of burning desire. His zanpakuto was proof enough of that. But no matter the sex appeal that radiated from the man, even he could not compete with Gin when it came to matters of seduction. If Aizen were a lesser man, Gin would have seduced him in the first place instead of trailing behind him as he did.

Gin had never followed him - and would never, he knew that, of course. But he’d allow the man to meander behind him like this as long as he remembered his place. And with Gin shunpoing down to stand barely a meter from the boy, Aizen doubted he’d have a problem with the silver haired man for quite some time to come.

“Oh, _kawaisou_ ,” Gin crooned, his fingers dancing along Ichigo’s jawline, mocking the path that the scientist had taken before him. “Are ya scared, little Berry?”

His voice was lilting and musical, like a sonata brought to life, and it soothed Ichigo’s nerves for just a moment. But he still flinched at those fingertips tracing along his skin, dragging from his jaw down his throat, lingering over his jugular, to flit over his collarbone.

He wanted to step back, wanted to struggle, even if Gin wasn’t holding him like Szayelaporro had, but he knew better. He’d gotten a taste of the man’s zanpakuto - Shinsou, he’d called it - and he didn’t want to risk another encounter.

So he held his body stiffly as those dexterous fingers made their way over his shoulder to tangle in his hair. They pulled lightly, and Ichigo felt a shiver go down his spine at the feeling. Before he had time to fully process that, and to fully curse his body for responding at all, there was a pair of lips in the hollow right beneath his ear. A warm tongue slipped out to tease over his jaw, trailing down his throat until it reached the most sensitive part, his heart thundering as lips closed over his pulse point and _sucked_.

A gasp flew from his mouth as he felt pins and needles rush through his body, that tongue working against his skin, teeth nipping sharply just before Gin pulled back. The hand stayed in his hair as Ichigo looked up, his mind hazy for a moment before he caught sight of those lazily closed eyes, that curving line of his mouth. He almost managed to get mad until he realized that those lips were reddened and slick, his tongue coming out to wet his own involuntarily.

Ichigo’s hand flew up to his throat, feeling the spot that was still wet from Gin’s mouth, his pulse thundering under his fingertips. Finally, he managed to speak.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, furious that his voice sounded so weak even to his own ears.

In the time it took him to blink, Gin was behind him, arms snaking around his waist. Apparently the man was just as fast as his sword.

Gin’s hands teased over his chest, his fingers skimming over Ichigo’s nipples, chuckling at the jolt it sent through the boy. As deft fingers pulled at his hakama himo, he felt those lips moving on the shell of his ear.

“What do ya want me to be doin, Ichi?” came the simpered reply.

He tried to stop Gin’s hands, grabbing at those slim wrists, but he was too slow. Fingers danced across his chest, untucking his kosode and shitagi, pushing the folds open to leave them hanging loosely off Ichigo’s muscled frame.

He finally caught Gin’s wrists in his grasp, holding them steadfast, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was only because the silver haired man had let him. Even though they were finally still, the hands pressing against his body were distracting. As was the firm torso he was held tightly against, warm against his back.

And then those pale, soft lips were moving against his skin again.

“Do ya want me to stop?” Gin whispered, and Ichigo opened his mouth to adamantly agree, but all that came out was a hitched breath as the man bit down harshly on his shoulder. “I don’t think ya do,” he crooned, his tongue coming out to lick over the bite mark.

Ichigo felt the man’s hands start to move again, and tightened his grip, shocked that Gin seemed to be entirely unaffected, even though he was putting all of his effort into keeping those hands still.

“I think ya want me to keep going,” he told Ichigo lowly. “I think ya want me to push these off your shoulders,” he said as he flicked the kosode and shitagi down, letting it pool around his elbows, “and pull ya closer.”

A hand on his stomach suddenly jerked him back, pressing him fully against Gin’s front. The man’s hips rolled, grinding a clothed erection against his ass, and Ichigo bit back a gasp.

“I think ya want me to move my hands down,” Gin continued, his hands sliding down Ichigo’s chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Slim fingers slid beneath the hem of his hakama, and his grip on Gin’s wrists tightened, for all the good it did. It didn’t even slow him down.

“Stop,” Ichigo forced out, his eyes seemingly glued to the fingers prying his pants looser.

Gin just chuckled, the air brushing over the back of Ichigo’s neck.

“But ya don’t want me to,” he reasoned.

Ichigo closed his eyes tightly as he felt his hakama finally give way, pooling around his ankles. His upper garments were sliding down around his hands, as they were following Gin’s in a losing battle to keep the other man’s fingers from continuing their exploration. All he had left was his sandals, and he hadn’t actually bothered to tie them closed in his haste. Why the hell had he decided he didn’t need to worry about his fundoshi?

Gin’s chuckle informed him that his lack of underwear didn’t go unnoticed, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“Ya don’t want me to stop, Ichigo,” Gin said again, pressing his hips forward to rub the cloth against Ichigo’s bare skin. “Ya want me to do this.”

And immediately, Ichigo’s eyes flew open, because there were suddenly cool fingers wrapping around his cock, a rough palm tugging at the length. His nails dug into Gin’s skin, trying to pull that hand away as he felt heat rush to his groin, felt himself begin to harden in that tight fist.

His hips instinctively bucked into Gin’s hand, pushing himself further into the tightness, into the heat. A thumb rubbed gently over the head of his cock, spreading the precum that had been threatening to drip onto the floor. Ichigo’s knees almost buckled at the feeling of that wet thumb rubbing over his glans, a weak moan escaping his lips. The fingers he had wrapped around Gin’s wrist turned to a vice grip, but he couldn’t tell if it was to keep the man away or to make sure he didn’t stop.

Another firm stroke and a wave of reiatsu washing over him had his head leaning back against Gin’s shoulder, shuddering helplessly as a breathy moan escaped him. He decided that he should really stop closing his eyes, because mere seconds after he did, they were snapping back open at a new sensation. His jaw dropped at the sight that greeted him.

Gin’s spindly fingers, now wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, were rolling his balls between them even as he held the boy back from orgasm. And then there was the figure cloaked in white, kneeling at his feet, a head of pink hair moving languidly between his legs, a long, curling tongue reaching out to lap at the head of his cock as golden eyes met his.

Ichigo shuddered out a moan, his hips bucking forward, wanting more of that soaking heat. A laugh sounded in his ear, teeth nipping harshly at his shoulder once again as Szayelaporro leaned back in to lick a stripe up the underside of his cock. His knees buckled, and if not for Gin’s grip on his waist, he’d have fallen right on his face on the cold marble.

Sexual contact was prohibited amongst anyone other than the Espada, so the feeling of something other than his own rough hand on his cock was almost mind-shattering. Gin seemed to understand this, as he tightened his grip on the base of Ichigo’s shaft. But neither of them let up. The Octava’s tongue continued to curl and stroke in ways that made Ichigo’s mind go completely blank, Gin’s mouth never stopping in its exploration of his throat and shoulder.

He was panting, his eyes screwed shut - and dammit, he’d meant to keep them open. But then finally, _finally_ , Szayelaporro’s mouth closed over the tip of his cock, and he couldn’t do anything but shake and let Gin hold him up. The heat was almost searing, that tongue never ceasing in its movement, soft cheeks hollowing out around him in the most delicious thing he’d ever felt in his entire life. A moan vibrated over his cock and Ichigo thought he was about to black out from the pleasure.

His mind was completely jumbled, his body shaking, and he was pretty sure the only thing holding him up was Gin’s hand. Suddenly, all of it stopped, his cock throbbing in the cold air as Szayelaporro leaned back, Gin’s fingers slowly releasing their hold around him. He whined at the loss, his body instinctively moving to find that friction again.

“Oh, _kawaisou_ ,” Gin said, the words rushing out across his skin. “Are ya gonna be honest when I ask ya what ya want this time, Berry?”

Ichigo nodded fervently, not comprehending what the older man was saying in the slightest. He’d have agreed to anything right then, so long as he could get that mouth back around his cock and cum.

“Do ya wanna cum?”

“ _Please_ ,” he choked out, pressing his ass back against Gin insistently, begging for something, anything, he didn’t care what it was at this point as long as he could cum.

“Don’ worry, little Berry, I’ll let ya cum,” Gin promised, grinning wider at the broken sob that left the boy in his arms. “But ya gotta earn it, don’t ya think?”

He punctuated his words with a quick, harsh stroke of Ichigo’s cock, releasing it immediately after, leaving the boy to buck his hips and look up at Gin pleadingly.

“On yer knees, Berry.”

Ichigo stiffened, just as he’d expected. But a wave of reiatsu knocked him down, and Gin spun him around effortlessly. Those lips were swollen from biting and wet, and Gin couldn’t wait to see them wrapped around his cock. Honestly, Gin was just glad the boy hadn’t let Szayelaporro have his way with him before he got the chance.

Ichigo was already glaring at him again, and as much as he’d have to fix that, he had to admit that the boy looked damn good like that - face flushed, glaring, clothes pooled around him on the floor, and hard as a rock.

“Now, don’ look at me like that, I’m gonna make ya cum soon, remember?” Gin teased him, his hand dropping to the bulge in his own hakama, finally getting some much needed friction. He let himself rub against his hand for a few moments before removing that hand and threading it through Ichigo’s orange locks.

He yanked the boy’s head back harshly, reveling in the pained gasp that tore from his lungs. His grin never faltered.

Szayelaporro took his place after a look from Gin, sliding between Ichigo’s legs on his back, his hands coming up to hold those hips still as they bucked in shock. His long tongue flicked out to press between Ichigo’s balls, drawing one forward into his mouth so he could suck. He didn’t care that he was in a position that could only be construed as servitude; he was the only one of them who didn’t care about the respect or opinions of anyone else. All he wanted, especially right now, was to feel that cock pressing into his throat, those hips losing control and bucking into his face, and hot cum filling his mouth.

So he sucked harder, moving up to encase the tip of Ichigo’s cock between his lips, lapping up the salty precum.

“Well, I guess technically Szayelaporro is gonna make ya cum, but ya still get to cum, so who cares,” Gin told him blithely, his other hand coming up to brush over Ichigo’s lips. “But ya only get to cum if you’re good, Berry. Ya show everyone what ya can do with that pretty little mouth of yours, and ya get to cum.”

Szayelaporro chose that moment to moan around Ichigo’s cock, taking him all the way down as he did so. Ichigo went back into that haze of pleasure as that tongue brushed against his balls.

Ichigo decided that it really wouldn’t be worth not cumming just so he didn’t have to suck a dick or two. Who knew if he’d ever get the chance to cum in someone’s mouth again?

So he reached out and yanked at Gin’s hakama himo, loosening them just enough to shove the pants down pale, skinny thighs. Gin’s chuckle trailed off into an appreciative groan as Ichigo’s fingers pulled at his fundoshi, managing to work those down his hips as well. His tongue came out to flit over Ichigo’s lips briefly as his hand cautiously made a loose fist around Gin’s cock.

He looked up to see Gin still grinning down at him, his eyes slitted closed. His fingers tightened momentarily as Szayelaporro made another languid path over his cock with that long, dexterous tongue. There couldn’t be that much to it, and the scientist seemed to actually be enjoying himself, so maybe it wouldn’t be quite as bad as Ichigo was expecting.

Amber eyes flicked up instinctively as he leaned forward, his tongue lapping experimentally at the head of the thick cock in his hand. The grin never faltered, even if the next intake of breath was hitched and a low groan spilled from Gin’s lips at the feeling. Ichigo decided that would be his fight here; he always did better when he thought of things like a fight.

It was his mission to wipe that stupid smirk off Gin’s face, to have those steady hands shaking and clutching at him. He could find some form of power in this. Gin would not be the one to tame him. If anyone managed to do that, it would be the king himself.

So he ignored all of his reservations and leaned forward, parting his lips and pulling Gin deep into his mouth, until he felt like he would choke. He flicked his tongue over the underside of the man’s cock, trying to replicate what Szayelaporro was doing to him, but it was a lot more difficult to try to get this done when his thighs were trembling and he could feel moans vibrating up his spine and fingers clutching at his hips.

But he tried anyway, and found he really didn’t mind the taste. The feeling of Gin’s cock, hot and heavy and demanding, pressing down on his tongue was actually quite intoxicating. And the way the man’s fingers were flexing in his hair and moans were spilling more freely told him he had to be doing something right. So he hollowed his cheeks, let his own moans rumble out against the hardness filling his mouth, and sucked like he had never wanted anything more.

His own hips were stuttering into the Octava’s mouth as he bobbed his head between Gin’s legs, and he finally looked back up at the silver haired man. One hand was tucked behind his back as he held the boy’s face still so he could thrust into that hot mouth. His grin had finally dropped, and Ichigo realized with a jolt and a low moan that his eyes were open, just barely, a hint of blue peeking out from under thick lashes.

That thick, hard cock throbbed in his mouth again, and he found himself entranced in the eyes of the man looming over him. It suddenly hit him what a spectacle he must be making, moans and whines spilling from his lips, muffled by the cock stretching his jaw, his own hips bucking wildly into the scientists mouth, thighs trembling helplessly. And both of the other men were almost completely dressed.

Szayelaporro didn’t have a single piece of clothing out of place, even though his hakama were sporting a rather impressive tent. Gin’s hakama and fundoshi were only pulled down just enough to free his cock. And Ichigo was kneeling, completely naked, his hakama tangled around his ankles, his shitagi and kosode tossed somewhere to the side after they’d slipped off altogether.

He moaned helplessly at the thought, heat flashing through him as he realized just how much he liked the idea of the other Espada, of _Aizen_ , watching him like this. Ichigo was being used like a common whore, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt better in his entire life.

He nearly screamed when Szayelaporro sucked him all the way down and swallowed around him, his thighs shaking as he came desperately down the arrancar’s throat, fingers gripping Gin’s hips hard enough to bruise. And before the scientist’s mouth was even fully off of him, cum trickling out of the corners of his lips, Gin was yanking him down, ignoring the way he choked and gagged, all the way until his nose was pressed against the man’s hips.

Not a second later, he felt hot liquid rushing down his throat, and he could do nothing but swallow, Gin still pressed deep. He could feel the cock in his mouth pulsing, then growing softer, and finally, Gin pulled back, tucking himself back into his hakama as Ichigo coughed and panted, having fallen to his hands and knees.

“He looks good like that,” Nnoitra’s voice rang out, lust plainly evident in his tone.

Murmurs of agreement rose among the other three, Gin merrily making his way back to lean behind Aizen’s throne. Ichigo was left naked, cum dripping down his chin, trying to get his breathing under control.

The second he came back into his senses, he started scrambling at his hakama, yanking them up and tying them quickly around his hips, like that could stave off his embarrassment. He had managed to make himself stand, albeit on incredibly shaky legs, and was striding over to where his shitagi and kosode had been tossed in a pile with his sandals, when Aizen stopped him.

“Ichigo,” was all the man had to say in that molten honey voice, and the boy was stopping mid step and turning to face his King.

His face was ablaze, and all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there, and never ever think about this again. Or maybe jerk off a million and a half times.

“Come here,” Aizen commanded.

Of course he wouldn’t have any kind of luck. So he squared his shoulders and made his way up the steps, nearly jumping out of his skin when a pale, spider like hand reached out and got a good handful of his ass, squeezing hard and making an appreciative noise. He turned quickly, shock and anger clear on his features, but he didn’t have time to do anything.

“Nnoitra,” Aizen called out in warning, and that hand grudgingly returned to the man’s side. “Come here, Ichigo,” he was reminded after standing there for several moments.

He hurried up the steps, not wanting to risk the king’s wrath. Aizen hadn’t been made King because of noble birth or recommendations or public standing; he’d cut a bloody swath through anyone who stood in his way, not even breaking a sweat. And then he’d sat himself on that throne and asked if anyone had any objections.

No one had spoken.

So Aizen’s right hand man had taken up playing around with the Arrancar and the Hollows, and the Espada has taken up cushy lives and killing anyone they felt like. Everything was tailored to Aizen’s liking, and if he didn’t like something, it disappeared - whether it be people or objects - and Ichigo had no desire to disappear.

He stopped at the top step, hesitating before stepping forward onto the raised dias the throne rested upon. He’d still not lowered his eyes, even though he really _really_ should’ve. But he found it much harder than it should have been to take his eyes off the king.

He seemed to radiate beauty, almost shining in the dim light of the throne room. Taking his eyes off Aizen would have felt like a sin.

“Come _here_ , Ichigo,” Aizen said a third time, his voice growing cold and disapproving.

It sent a shiver through Ichigo’s body, and he stepped closer, stopping about a foot away from the throne. His eyes had fallen to the floor, fear winning out over his desire to keep feasting his eyes on the king’s features.

Waves of reiatsu started lapping at him moments after he stopped, and he looked up at Aizen in surprise. He opened his mouth to question the king, but the reiatsu just strengthened, slamming into him with a force that brought him to his knees, trying to remember how to breathe as the walls shook around him.

Aizen’s eyes were cold when he met them again, and he knew that he was completely at the king’s mercy, his life to be spared or thrown away on a whim.

“I didn’t expect you to be so troublesome, Ichigo,” he heard Aizen croon from above him, but he just stayed still, not moving from where he was sitting on his knees, his hands keeping him steady against the floor. He opened his mouth to apologize, or maybe to beg for his life, but Aizen continued, “Since you made me go through all that trouble, I believe I’ll need to allow you to make it up to me.”

He shivered at the tone of voice, and knowing what Aizen expected of him. His throat was sore, almost throbbing, and he could still taste Gin’s cum on his tongue. But he bowed his head anyway and made to stand up. A click of the tongue from Aizen stopped him.

“Crawl.”

Shame coursed through his body at the command, his face flushing. He wanted to scream, to cry, he definitely didn’t want to do this in front of everyone _again._ But instead, he bit his tongue, swallowed back his nerves, and he crawled.

The marble was cold against his palms, and he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on his back, and he was suddenly acutely aware of his lack of shirt. He was more angry at himself though, as he realized that he was getting hard again as he crawled to his king’s feet. Ichigo was just grateful that no one could see it this time, as he was too bent over for it to be noticed.

He stopped at Aizen’s feet, looking up into cold brown eyes. Those eyes flicked to the space between his legs, spread wide enough to give him plenty of room. His face heated even more, but he simply crawled between the man’s legs and kneeled facing him.

His knees were touching the cold stone of Aizen’s throne, strong thighs brushing against his shoulders even with how wide the king’s legs were spread to accommodate him. The touch of fabric on his skin sent a shiver through him, and he abruptly remembered the fantasy he’d had after getting his first look at the new King.

The man’s bloody tirade had just ended, and he, along with all the other beings that weren’t Hollows, had been called into the throne room to be assigned positions based on Aizen’s assessment of them.

Aizen had been sitting on the very throne he was now kneeling before, snow-white hakama draped artfully over long legs that were crossed over each other. His chin had been rested casually on the knuckles of his hand, those sharp brown eyes taking in everything about the group standing nervously below him, that single wave of hair falling over his strong nose. His lips were curled into a small, kind smile, even though it wasn’t fooling anyone anymore.

Ichigo had taken one look at the man lazily uncrossing his legs and standing and had immediately conjured vivid images of strong thighs wrapped tightly around his skull as he swallowed Aizen to the base. And then he’d shaken his head subtly, because this man was King, and the prohibitions on sexual contact had already been put into place. After all, Aizen didn’t need repopulation of his army, he had the Hogyoku for that.

And now, here Ichigo was, between his king’s spread thighs, cum still on his lips. His hands shook as he reached up for the hakama himo, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He still almost fell backwards when a strong hand closed around his wrist.

Amber eyes shot up to Aizen, and Ichigo realized he had no idea what to do. Could he pull his hand back? Could he ask what the fuck Aizen was doing? Could he do literally anything without risking the man tearing his head from his shoulders right there? So he stilled, and clenched his jaw shut to prevent himself from speaking at all.

“You still don’t know your place, boy,” Aizen told him, and Ichigo felt fear slither up his spine at the absolute ice that coated the man’s tone. His eyes lowered again. “Touching me is a privilege that you have not yet earned. You will kneel there until I tell you to move.”

There wasn’t any room for argument, and Ichigo knew that, so he just let his arm go limp in his King’s grasp as his face flamed in embarrassment once again. He didn’t catch the small, mocking smile he got from Aizen.

“Gin, would you mind gathering the rest once again? There are other matters to discuss now that this has been settled.”

Aizen’s tone was calm, same as always, and Gin just gave him a nod before going to collect the remaining Espada. It would be interesting to see just how the boy responded to being on display in front of Aizen’s strongest, his use made so clear by the position he’d be forced to keep. Gin’s grin widened as he closed the doors behind him quietly.

“Ichigo,” Aizen called again once Gin had left the room.

Ichigo forced himself to meet the man’s eyes, swallowing hard at the fear that was harshly battling his arousal. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from being so turned on, but he attributed it to Aizen’s near suffocating reiatsu, the fact that he’d actually cum for the first time in as long as he could remember, and the fact that he was surrounded by incredibly powerful men who all clearly wanted him.

Power had always been a weakness of sorts for Ichigo. He’d always been drawn to the strong - Renji, Byakuya, Shunsui, Kenpachi. Kenpachi was the only one he’d ever gotten into bed, before Aizen came along, and _gods_ he’d loved it. The reiatsu pouring from the man’s body, the sharp tugs on his hair, the bruising grip on his thighs. But it’d always been the way Kenpachi’s hand had cracked down across his face that had made his spine bow and his control snap. He’d never cum as hard as he had the first time Kenpachi had slapped him - he’d practically been sobbing afterwards.

But when you took all that power, that nonchalant attitude, added it to the viciousness that lurked right underneath the surface, and stuffed it all into a man that was as jaw droppingly attractive as Aizen was, Ichigo really couldn’t be expected to resist.

So when a firm hand threaded through Ichigo’s hair and guided him to rest his head in Aizen’s lap, his lips so close to the slight bulge in those pristine hakama, he didn’t resist. He was already hard again, the reiatsu washing over him really not helping the situation, and he knew that there was no getting out of this until Aizen tired of him. Being annoying would get him beaten and then forced, flat out refusing would get him killed, so there really wasn’t another choice. And he doubted he’d have taken another path even if there was one available.

For right now at least, he was content to nuzzle his head into the crook of his king’s thigh and breathe in the heady scent of the other man. He was sated enough to ignore the insistent pulse of his cock, and he knew if he pushed for more there would be trouble. Maybe if he behaved like Aizen wanted, one of the Espada, or Gin, or maybe even the king himself would take mercy on him and bend him over whatever was most convenient so they could fuck him senseless.

The fingers in his hair tightened slightly, and he slanted his eyes up to his king, taking in the heat smoldering in those dark eyes and the smirk on his lips.

“Such a good boy for your king,” Aizen crooned at him.

He knew. He knew those words were a taunt. That they were intended to get a rise out of him. And he wanted to respond correctly, wanted to feel that anger boil in him, but as he took a breath in to retort, he got another whiff of the man’s scent, and then he realized how much he _liked_ those words, and all Ichigo could do was close his eyes and press his head further into that lap. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood to stifle the pathetic whimper clawing its way traitorously up his throat.

Aizen just chuckled and turned his attention to the doors as they opened again and Gin led in the remaining Espada. Ichigo closed his eyes, not wanting to look any of them in the eye, not wanting to see the judgement there. He leaned into the hand idly stroking through his hair, focusing on those long fingers instead.

His cheeks suddenly flared as he remembered his shitagi and kosode still lying discarded in the middle of the floor. If any of them had managed to misconstrue Ichigo’s purpose after seeing him in Aizen’s lap, they’d know exactly what happened the second they saw the garments lying in a heap on the cold marble.

The king greeted each of the newcomers in turn, hiding a grin as he felt Ichigo flinch at a few of the names.

Ichigo felt his face flare as Aizen spoke to the incoming Espada. Knowing that they could see him like this, that Yammy, Barrigan, Halibel, Ulquiorra, Zommari, and Aaroniero could all _see_ him, all knew what he was here for, made his erection start to fade. Yammy was just terrifying, Barrigan _old_ , Halibel motherly, Ulquiorra entirely unfeeling, Zommari had too many eyes, and Ichigo just really didn’t want to hear Aaroniero’s voice change in the middle of a sentence while he was here.

Thankfully, Aizen’s reiatsu intensified as it washed over him. He shivered at the feeling and tried not to move, even as he desperately wanted to just press further into that hand, to climb into the king’s lap and just fall asleep there. He let himself focus on the man’s reiatsu and the hand in his hair and toned out the other’s voices, closing his eyes comfortably.

Suddenly, he felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Ichigo looked up into dark, amused eyes, as he tried to blink away sleep. His mind was fuzzy, but he focused on his king.

“Enjoy your nap?” Aizen asked him lowly, a thumb brushing across his lower lip.

His mouth opened instinctively and he moaned softly at the feeling of that finger dipping inside his mouth and teasing over his tongue.

“The meeting is over, everyone is gone,” he was told.

He just sucked softly on the thumb in his mouth in response, his eyes closing at the taste. He’d forgotten how much he used to love sucking cock, the heavy press on his tongue, the twitching hips, the precum. Ichigo hadn’t wasted time thinking about it since the prohibitions were put in place; no need to torture himself.

But now, on his knees at Aizen’s feet, the memory of Gin using his mouth still fresh in his mind, Ichigo couldn’t think of anything else.

“I believe you still have your earlier behavior to make up for, no matter how good you’re being now,” his king reminded.

Ichigo nodded, pulling his mouth back slowly, releasing the thumb with a wet pop. He looked up into Aizen’s eyes, hips rolling of their own accord as he saw the lust in them, even if the man wasn’t hard yet.

He tried to speak, then cleared his throat and swallowed, tried again.

“May I touch you, Aizen-sama?” he managed, his throat still sore from Gin and his mouth dry from sleep.

“Learning so quickly,” Aizen praised. Then, with a small nod of his head, “You may.”

“Thank you Aizen-sama.”

Aizen watched as those hands pulled at his hakama himo impatiently, pleased with the progress he was already making. If all it took was a little reiatsu and a firm hand to make the boy behave so nicely, it wasn’t a bad trade. After all, the sight of Kurosaki Ichigo on his knees, tenting his pants at just the thought of being able to touch Aizen, was enough to make most men beg. But Aizen, of course, was not most men. And he wouldn’t be the one begging. If he had his way - and he would, he always did - Ichigo would be screaming for him within the hour, and hopelessly addicted to him within the week.

As it was, he just watched as quick fingers pulled his hakama down just far enough to bare his soft cock. Ichigo stilled for a moment as he took in the sight, and Aizen felt himself twitch. Such a pretty boy, and all that power coursing through him - unrealized, for now, but still there - kneeling at his throne and looking at his cock like he’d been given the world.

A hot breath left Ichigo’s lungs in a rush as he took in all that smooth, soft flesh, Aizen’s cock laying soft over his balls, dark eyes staring down at him, just watching. He could barely draw in the breath to speak.

“May I, Aizen-sama?” he nearly whispered.

Aizen chuckled, and he felt a crooked finger pull his chin up, tearing his gaze off the man’s cock and forcing him to look up.

“May you what, Ichigo?” he teased, dark eyes full of amusement and lust. “What do you want?”

Ichigo’s face flamed; he hadn’t had any sort of sexual contact in forever, and he felt almost shy about it now. Surely the king wouldn’t deny himself any pleasures, maybe his clumsy skills wouldn’t be enough. He stumbled for words, trying to force something coherent out.

“What do you want, Ichigo?” Aizen repeated, his voice lowering an octave, all sense of teasing gone. He wrapped his own hand around his cock, the hand that had been holding Ichigo’s head up winding into the boy’s hair. “Do you want to touch? To taste? Do you want to feel it inside you? Tell me what you want.”

Ichigo was hauling in shuddering breaths, Aizen’s voice driving him absolutely crazy. He wanted all of it. But for now -

“Taste,” he managed to choke out, his eyes unable to leave the sight of that cock. “Please let me taste you, Aizen-sama.”

The hand behind his head pushed him forward slightly, and he eagerly followed it, his lips already dropping open. His fingers squeezed lightly where they rested on his king’s thighs, his mouth watering.

“Good boy.”

 


End file.
